


Is it Erik with a C or a K?

by ikeracity, kageillusionz



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Charles is a flustered Dork, Dirty Talk, Erik is Hot and Bothered, M/M, Office Desk Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles sexts his boss instead of his latest squeeze during one late night of report writing, the first thing he expects is a sexual harassment law suit and the last thing is Mr. Lehnsherr actually fucking him hard into his desk.</p><p>(Or the one where the moral of this story is don't check who you sext if you want your boss to bone you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it Erik with a C or a K?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Is it Erik with a C or a K?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963247) by [Glacier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacier/pseuds/Glacier)



> Written for this [kinkmeme](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21202149) prompt:
>
>> Charles starts sexting his current casual fuckbuddy with a series of increasingly graphic messages about all the things he wants to do to them.
>> 
>> He doesn't know he got the number wrong and he's actually sexting his boss, Erik.
>> 
>> At least not until a desperate wild-eyed Erik bangs down his door like a crazy man and they fuck like animals.

Charles is tired. He has been up for thirty-three hours straight working on this latest project, and he's probably consumed more caffeine in the last couple of days than he has in his entire life. It gets to the point where he can't even focus on the words in front of his eyes anymore; the letters swim across the page in vague undulating lines, and when he keeps reading "clocks" as "cocks" he admits that he needs a break. Leaning back in his chair, he stretches his stiff muscles and then reaches for his phone. He's got one message: Raven, telling him to text her if he's planning on sleeping at the office again. He shoots her a quick message telling her that he'll be home but it'll probably be late, given that he's still got four reports to plow through before he can go home for the night. Then he checks the weather, plays a short game of Bejeweled, and then glances at the clock. 9:43. Surely not too late to call.

He pulls up his contacts and scrolls down to E. He's only met this guy last week, but he can't get him off his mind. So far, Eric's been everything Charles could've asked for: a casual friend who isn't averse to Charles warming his bed at night and then slipping out in the morning without even leaving a note. They've had sex four times in the last week alone, and Charles can envision this turning into a regular thing. Good, he thinks. He doesn't have the time or motivation for a committed relationship, and he's too old to go picking up a different fling every night anymore. It would be nice to have stability, even if it is the no strings attached sort. 

He debates calling. From the four days he's spent in the man's company, he can tell Eric isn't the type to go to bed before midnight. If what he knows of him is accurate—and Charles is very good at reading people—Eric is probably flopped on his bed with his reading glasses on and his laptop open to surf the web. As a courier, Eric has to get up early on weekdays to report to work but it also means that he doesn't work at home. This means that there’s a very good chance he isn’t busy at the moment, Charles muses. His finger hovers over the call button for a long minute.

Then an idea strikes him. Almost as soon as it does, Charles bats it away. But then he thinks—why not? There's no one else left in the office this late except him and probably his boss, who considers it a point of pride to never leave before every other employee has done so. Charles would feel guilty about keeping Lehnsherr from going home, except that he knows Lehnsherr is a night owl anyway and that he's got just as much work to get done as Charles. He'd probably stay regardless. But everyone else has gone home, and Charles has his private office. There's no one around to see.

He gets up and shuts the door. Then he opens up his contacts list, types in a rapid text, and hits send.

Not even a moment later, he gets a reply: _What?_

Charles smirks. _what does it look like? i'm bored._

A minute passes. Then: _You should be working._

_you're not the boss of me. you want to take me up on my offer or not?_

He waits for two minutes. When no answer comes, he takes it as acquiescence and sets about composing his next text. He chews on his lip and thinks about it for a long moment. A slow burn would be good. Build up Eric's frustrations and all that. It would make for better sex later, Charles figures, if they get some of the foreplay out of the way with a few well-worded texts. Charles has never liked being patient.

_we'll be in my bedroom. i'll be standing, and you'll be lying on the bed. you'll tell me to strip, and i will. i'll start with my shirt, slowly, popping off one button at a time._

He fires that off and waits. When there's no reply, he assumes that he has Eric's attention now. Grinning, he adds, _i'll slide my shirt off completely. then i'll unbuckle my pants and shimmy out of them. underneath i don't have any underwear on. thought i'd go commando today._

Still no answer. A little more awake now, Charles straightens in his chair and thinks out his next words carefully. _i'll crawl onto the bed next to you. you've still got all your clothes on but we'll fix that soon enough. i won't waste any time. i'll unzip your pants and pull out your cock. i'll lick a long stripe on its underside and keep licking you until you get hard._

He lets one minute pass. No reply. Wondering if he isn't as fantastic at sexting as he supposes (and really, it's his first time, he can't be blamed for missteps), he sends, _what? don't tell me you fell asleep._

Not even fifteen seconds later, one message pops up: _No. Go on._

Charles grins. _if you say so. once you're hard i'll grab the lube and slick myself up. you’ll watch as i slide one finger into myself. you’re not allowed to touch. i’ll add another finger then a third. shouldn’t take me long – i’m still a little loose from the fucking you gave me last night you know._

A muffled thump makes him freeze. Glancing up at the door, he waits with bated breath, ready to hide his phone if he hears footsteps. Lehnsherr doesn’t like his employees distracted when they’re supposed to be working, even if just for a moment. The whole office lives in terror of him, except Charles, who has somehow managed to get on Lehnsherr’s good side, mercifully enough. They barely speak, but at least when they do, Lehnsherr doesn’t look as homicidal as he does when he confronts anyone else. But still, if Lehnsherr found him in here on his phone when he’s meant to be finishing reports that are due before the start of the business day tomorrow, he doesn’t think Lehnsherr would be pleased.

After two minutes pass with no knock on the door and no sign of Lehnsherr, Charles returns his attention to his phone. _i’ll get myself nice and ready for you. you’re just going to lie there as i do. slowly. i’ll be making those little noises you like so much. my fingers feel good but not as good as you in me. once i’m prepped i’ll straddle your hips and pull your cock between my legs and sink down on it. and i’ll ride you til you scream._

He hits send and then waits, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile. He discovered their second night together that Eric’s easily flustered, which makes him wonder what Eric’s face looks like now. Red, probably—he’s likely blushing up a storm and wondering how to reply. He’s a shyer sort than Charles is used to, but that makes him interesting.

All of a sudden, he hears a door bang open. Snapping straight in his chair, he shoves his phone in his pocket and bends over his papers again, picking up his pen and circling a word at random. He hears footsteps stomping down the hall toward his office—Lehnsherr coming to check up on him, no doubt, and in a sour mood, too, if his rapid pace is anything to go by. Charles tries to look hard at work, though it’s difficult when he’s too tired to concentrate. He draws a couple of tally marks in the margins of his paper and rereads a sentence three times. Only on the third try does he realize that the paper says, “The deep necessity of functioning clocks” and not “The deep necessity of functioning cocks.”

The door to his office slams open so violently that Charles jumps. “Mr. Lehnsherr,” he says, startled into glancing up. “Did you need…” His words trail off as he catches sight of Lehnsherr’s face. The man looks positively wild, his eyes wide, his fists clenched by his side, his entire body nearly vibrating with tension. Charles stands immediately, his brow furrowing in confusion and concern. “Mr. Lehnsherr?”

“What,” Lehnsherr bites out, “is the meaning of this?”

He waves something in Charles’s direction. It’s his phone, Charles realizes after a moment. His frown deepens. “I’m…not sure I understand.”

“Understand?” Lehnsherr echoes, his voice strangled. He jabs a finger at his phone and reads, “ _I’ll get myself nice and ready for you….I’ll ride you ‘til you scream.”_

Everything screeches to a halt. Charles stares at him for a long moment in unspeakable horror. Then he yanks his phone out of his pocket, because no—it couldn’t be—he’d sent those texts to Eric—

No. The recipient headline is clear: Erik. _Erik._ With a k. Oh…shit.

He darts a glance up to Lehnsherr, barely able to breathe. “Mr. Lehnsherr,” he stammers, “I—I didn’t—”

Then he notices something else: the very obvious bulge in Lehnsherr’s pants. Shock ripples through him. For a horribly long moment, he can’t stop staring. He can’t tear his eyes away, even though he knows Lehnsherr knows what he’s staring at, even though this is outrageously inappropriate of him and Lehnsherr’s going to fire him any instant now for _sexting_ , of all things—

“Fuck,” Lehnsherr whispers. He drops his phone and all but leaps across the room, slamming into Charles with all the force of a freight train and then— _holy shit_ —he’s kissing Charles so firmly and so unexpectedly that Charles reels back, his eyes wide and his hands scrabbling along Lehnsherr’s arms, unable to decide if they want to pull him closer or shove him away.

Lehnsherr’s hands cup his face almost tenderly, his fingers digging ten shallow divots along the back of his head and into his hair. The former is by far the more attractive option and once the decision is made, Charles doesn’t hesitate to fist his hands into the lapels of Lehnsherr’s suit to draw him in.

Charles isn’t blind; he has been attracted to Lehnsherr since they met and Lehnsherr conducted his one-on-one interview. The tall, dark and handsome package complete with a ruthless sort of efficiency and competency that Lehnsherr expects from all of the people he hires. Every possible trait that Charles can think of to describe Lehnsherr ticks a little square box on Charles’ mental list in what he wants to find in the ideal partner. He’s also completely off-limits, being his boss and all.

Off-limits until now, apparently.

And – Good Lord – is Lehnsherr a bloody fantastic kisser. Lehnsherr kisses with the passion of a man who longs to do nothing but make love to Charles’ lips all day long. Of course, most of Charles’ ex-lovers were always amazed that his lips were naturally this shade of obscene and that always worked to his advantage in enticing people into his bed.

If kissing were an Olympic sport, Charles is almost certain his boss would take the gold medal. Lehnsherr dominates the kiss, his tongue moving with purpose and sweeping the inside of his mouth like it is a privilege given to Lehnsherr every day, and just the faint smell of Lehnsherr’s aftershave worn away by the day is heady.  Charles’ pulse feels loud even to his own ears.

They pull apart slowly with a thin strand of saliva connecting their mouths. Lehnsherr’s eyes flickers downwards to observe the slight puffy quality of Charles’ lips and smirks when he likes what he sees. Lehnsherr’s voice is as coarse as sandpaper when he asks, “was what you said true?”

“Was what?” Charles asks blankly, blinking owlishly in return. To be quite honest, Charles is having problems remembering his name at this juncture, let alone what he said over text messages an hour ago.

Lehnsherr lets out an impatient huff of breath and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, a movement that attracts Charles’ attention. “What you said about going commando,” replies Lehnsherr matter-of-factly.

“You’ll just have to find out won’t you, sir?” Charles answers coyly, once he’s done away with the pesky buttons on his own shirt. He adds a cheeky grin for effect and then curls his index fingers into Lehnsherr’s belt loops, reeling him in until he could feel the approximate measurement for Lehnsherr’s impressive length against his stomach. “Unless, I’ve misinterpreted the kiss; perhaps I should be reading the terms and conditions of my job contract more closely in case I missed the part in fine print. You know, before we embark on what I hope will be a very dirty and very satisfying fuck.”

Lehnsherr doesn’t even dignify that with an answer before diving in to deliver yet another messy kiss, one that Charles is more than happy to give as good as he gets.

So they’re doing this. There won’t be a sexual harassment law suit slapped onto Charles’ desk in the near foreseeable future. Exceptionally good news, Charles thinks to his enthusiastic erection as he pulls Lehnsherr’s shirt tails out of his pants and clumsily unbuttons it from the bottom up. His knuckles brush up against the firm planes of Lehnsherr’s abdominal muscles and were it not for Lehnsherr’s tongue being stuck down his throat, Charles’ mouth would certainly have gone dry by now.

“Has anyone ever told you that you speak too much?” Lehnsherr asks, panting for air against Charles’ lips.

Charles shrugs and retorts, “What are you going to do about it? Gag me?”

“Oh no.” Lehnsherr grins, all white teeth and predatory intent. “I’m going to fuck the words right out of you until the only thing you do will be groaning out my name.”

If he hadn’t been turned on by the idea of sexting Eric-the-courier, Lehnsherr’s statement makes his cock twitch. Charles is distracted and left breathless by the idea, gaping like a fish when Lehnsherr pulls back to walk around and - _holy fuck_ – had his office door been wide open the entire time?

Lehnsherr closes the door and flicks the lock, warding away any late night janitors from entering, and shrugs out of his suit jacket to drape over the back of the nearest chair. “I assume you have lube and condoms. Take off your pants and then stand up so I can prep you. We’ll have to make this quick since I have a conference call in half an hour with the Mitsubishi Group,” Lehnsherr says, after a long moment of consideration.

Charles nods, his cock twitching uncomfortably in his pants at the idea of Lehnsherr’s slim fingers inside of him and barely suppresses the moan. He could hardly wait. Lehnsherr watches him with a speculative gleam in his eye as Charles fumbles to get his bottom desk drawer open for the half-full bottle of lubrication buried in the depths somewhere. Crowing triumphantly at finally locating the lube, Charles sets it upright on his table and quickly slides both his belt and pants off, and giving Lehnsherr the answer to his question. He straightens up, watching with greedy eyes as Lehnsherr saunters around the desk and then settles down into the chair - _his_ chair _._

“Hands on your desk, Charles,” Lehnsherr drawls, his hand drifting down to unbuckle his belt and pull down the zipper of his pants.

Charles nearly gets whiplash with how quickly he turns around, his palms sweaty against flushing from head-to-toe with arousal just thinking about the implications. He looks under his arm, his heart pounding against his chest, and feels his mouth go a little dry at the size of Lehnsherr’s erection standing proudly. Eric-the-courier’s, Charles notes dazedly, doesn’t even remotely compare.

“See something you like, Charles?” Lehnsherr asks, a devilish grin on his face.

Charles sees everything that he likes and yet he still cannot get his mind around it. He is about to have sex with his very sexy boss in his office, his own _office_ ; this is a place where Charles receives clients and it will forever be desecrated by the memory of his boss fucking him hard.

“Oh god yes,” Charles blurts as he all but flings the lube in Lehnsherr’s direction.

The sound of the cap snapping open and splurting out its clear contents is filthy to his ears; Charles tucks his lower lip in between his teeth to contain the moan. “Good,” Lehnsherr says. “Turn around and spread your legs wider; I want to see just how loose you are.”

Charles bends over upon command, uncaring of the papers that may be crushed under his elbow. “I don’t think last night’s stretching is going to help, not if I’m going to get all of _that_ in me,” Charles comments, swallowing hard afterwards and thinking absurdly that they ought to close the case on the Loch Ness Monster, given that it has been located in his boss’s pants all along. And, oh, that’s lovely. Lehnsherr’s hands are warm where they drift upwards, caressing over his lumbar vertebras, and dragging up the bottom of his shirt.

Lehnsherr laughs like a dirty old man, digging his nails lightly into his skin in a fond sort of scratch. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Charles huffs in annoyance, shooting a look under his arm. “I thought you had a conference call. Get your cock inside of me, _right now_.”

“You will get it when I let you have it,” Lehnsherr says conversationally as he throws the lube onto the table, adding to the organised chaos amongst Charles’ things.

That is all the warning he is given and Lehnsherr slips the first finger inside slowly, tantalizingly so that it is more of a tease really; Charles can’t get enough. His world narrows down to the feel of Lehnsherr’s hands: one spreading his ass cheeks apart and the other slipping in and out of him, hardly filling him up satisfactorily. A second finger slides in a moment later, scissoring carefully at Charles’ sphincter muscles that makes Charles gives an inhuman yowl that makes his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Lehnsherr laughs and twists his fingers when they are buried to the hilt. And just as Charles is about to open his mouth to demand Lehnsherr _hurry the fuck up_ , he does something clever with his fingers that sends fireworks going off inside of him, his entire body jolting , knocking several manila folders off the corner of his desk. He barely pays them any attention as he pants against the keyboard of his computer. 

“I see. I’ll have to keep this in mind when I fuck you,” Lehnsherr says with a tone that could have been used to describe the weather, pulling out his fingers all at once in order to put on the condom and add additional lube over the latex.

Charles bunches up the end of his tie and stuffs it into his mouth, biting down on the fabric as he lets out a muffled moan of frustration into his makeshift gag. His cock is leaking, he can feel it. Hopefully not on anything too important, otherwise it would be mortifying to have to explain why he had to reprint a fifty-page document. (He doesn’t think “Oh, our boss fucked me over them and they’re ruined, so blame him” exactly cuts it by way of reasoning.)

Lehnsherr stands up and holds himself in one hand, the other a steadying presence on the small of Charles’s back. Charles whimpers, desperate to keep himself still and yet at the same time yearning to move back and fuck himself onto Lehnsherr already. There is little fanfare when Lehnsherr’s cock finally sinks inside of him, inch by inch until Charles can feel Lehnsherr’s balls settle against his ass.

“Fuck. You’re tight,” Lehnsherr rumbles as he pulls back and thrusts his way back in again. Charles feels his eyes water at the way Lehnsherr fills him up so completely and can’t resist the full body shudder. He mutters something unintelligible into his tie and shifts his grip on his table, hands slipping over another document that ends up on the floor.

The rhythm between them builds up quickly, exponentially, and settles into an almost brutal pace. And fuck, does Charles _love_ it, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the soft grunts as Lehnsherr fucks into him hard and deep, the light jingle of Lehnsherr’s belt, the metal of the buckle cold against the skin of Charles’s thigh.

Lehnsherr leans over, effectively changing the angle. Even with the movement, his hips continue to piston with an enviable efficiency. “I’ve imagined fucking you hard against my desk before. I never thought it would actually become a reality,” he whispers filthily into Charles’ ear. The rasp of his voice shoots straight to Charles’s cock. “The first day you walked into the interview with your calm and your fucking British accent. I would have done you on the conference table, spread out like the filthy cock lover that you are.”

Oh god, Charles thinks desperately as his arms shake from keeping the both of them upright. He whines in his throat, tilting his head backwards to find purchase against one of Lehnsherr’s broad shoulders. Reflecting back now, he would have let Lehnsherr do anything to him then, from the instant he walked into the office. Actually, scratch that - Charles is more than happy to let Lehnsherr do anything to him _now._ Better late than never as they say.

“Take that tie out of your mouth. There’s no one else here and I want to make you _scream_ ,” Lehnsherr orders, nipping at the shell of Charles’ ear.

Charles obediently opens his mouth, the tie dropping from between his teeth and onto his desk with an unimpressive soggy sound. He is panting heavily now, his ass burning as Lehnsherr continues to fuck into him quickly, thrusting like a boxer would jab at an opponent.

He entertains the distant thought of what it would be like to be fucked by Lehnsherr for hours on end, to wake up on a Sunday morning with Lehnsherr already buried inside of him; to wake up with Lehnsherr nipping at his neck like he is now and all sorts of lascivious things dripping from his lips.  The idea is enough to drive him ever closer to the edge.

“Please,” Charles pleads, desperate to keep everything together. “I need-”

“What do you need, Charles, a reach around?” Lehnsherr almost sounds sympathetic to his cause but then he says, “No. I want to see you come from just having my cock inside of you.”  And to demonstrate his point, Lehnsherr’s large hands blanket the back of Charles’s, lacing their fingers together, his punishing pace unchanging.

“Oh God, ohgodohgod,” Charles moans out loud when Lehnsherr’s cock slams against his prostate, setting his nerve endings ablaze and making all the hairs on his skin stand on end. It is difficult to keep his control from unravelling like the threads of a rope. 

“Please. I’m so close...Mr. Lehnsherr, _please_.”

 _“Lehnsherr?”_ A breathless laugh ghosts across the back of Charles’s neck, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “You’re spread wide open on your desk, my cock sunk all the way into you, and I’m still _Mr. Lehnsherr?_  Clearly I’m not doing my job in reducing the amount of syllables that come out of your mouth. _”_

Charles groans. “ _Erik._ Please.”

Erik’s mouth finds purchase on his shoulder, biting down into the flesh and sucking a mark into the skin. Their breaths are counter-point to one another and Charles is pressing back against Erik as often as Erik is fucking into him, acting with the mindless instinct of an animal. 

There is no finesse to it, sweat making their shirts stick to them like a second skin. Finally, _finally_ , Charles can’t take any more punishment on his prostate, can’t possibly hold back, and comes with a loud cry of Erik’s name. Everything goes off in this one glorious moment as the endorphins rush throughout his body, making everything clench and curl, tightening around Erik’s cock until he too is pushed over the precipice into the liquid pool of ecstasy inside of his belly.

“Charles.” Erik’s voice sounds strained, his fingers squeezing almost painfully against Charles’s. It takes them a long moment to float back down to earth from their post-orgasmic high and Erik curls his arms around Charles, tugging them back to sit down on Charles’s chair but not separating them just quite yet, inevitable as that event is.

Charles is a mess, a big gooey incoherent mess as he slumps back into Erik’s lap, leaning against that firm muscular chest bonelessly.

“Fuck...” Charles grapples to find his words, evasive little buggers they are, and squeezes Erik’s hand once. “I think you managed to, uh, complete your objectives.”

Erik laughs, little puffs of air against the nape of Charles’ neck that makes the little hairs there stand to attention. “Fuck, indeed.”

They sit there in silence for a long few minutes. Charles is still too frazzled to process what’s just happened. The shock will hit him sooner or later, he thinks. Sooner or later, it’ll hit him that he just let his boss fuck him across his desk, but for now, he basks in the warm afterglow of sex, waiting as his breathing slows to something closer to normal.

At last, Erik nudges his arm. “We should clean ourselves up.”

“Mmm,” Charles grumbles, but he relents. Carefully, he pushes himself up, Erik’s softened cock slipping from his ass as he does. He’s not sore yet, but he can already tell he will be later. At least tomorrow is Saturday, which means he won’t be stuck sitting uncomfortably at work; no matter how ergonomic his office chair is, it doesn’t ease the ache of being fucked sore. The tissue box perched on the edge of his desk is one of the few things to have survived the desk sex. Charles pulls out a tissue, offers it to Erik, then fetches himself one. He wipes his cock off, then attends to the desk. There’s a stripe of his come across the surface, thankfully missing any paperwork. _Fuck,_ he thinks a bit ruefully as he scrubs the line away. That image is ingrained in his mind now. He has no idea how he’s supposed to sit here and function anymore, not when every time he glances at his desk, he’ll remember the sight of his come painted across it, remember Erik’s hands gripping his hips as he thrust hard into Charles.

When he turns, Erik has already tied up the condom, tossed it into the bin under Charles’s desk, and tucked himself neatly back into his pants. If not for his rumpled shirt, tousled hair, and missing jacket, he might have looked perfectly normal. Charles would be amazed if he himself looked anything less than thoroughly shagged.

He tosses the used tissue away and then fetches his pants from where he’d tossed them on the floor. Slipping back into them and zipping himself up, he attempts to straighten his shirt up and then turns back to face Erik, holding out his arms. “Do I look okay?”

Erik is still sprawled in Charles’s chair like he belongs there. He smiles lazily and says, “More than okay. But not the least bit decent.” 

Charles huffs, fiddling with his damp tie for a moment before abandoning it as a lost cause. “You don’t look much better, Mr. Sex Hair.”

Erik doesn’t even move to fix up his appearance. His eyes trace the column of Charles’s throat, unabashedly staring. Charles stands still for his scrutiny, feeling a bit of a flush creeping up his face. Erik grins at the sight of it. “I can fuck you, and you won’t even flinch. But I just look at you, and you’re blushing.”

Embarrassed at the teasing edge to his voice, Charles clears his throat irritably and bends to pick up some of the fallen papers off the floor. “I’m odd like that.”

“Mm,” Erik hums. “Makes me wonder what your face looked like when you sent me those texts.”

Charles’s colour rises further. “I didn’t mean...Those texts weren’t for you.”

The good humour vanishes from Erik’s eyes in an instant. He darts a glance at Charles’s left hand, then at Charles’s phone on the floor, knocked off in their haste. “You’re not married...?”

Charles laughs. “No. Not married.”

Something like relief flashes across Erik’s face. Still, he looks displeased. “And you’re not...”

“Dating anyone?” Charles fills in. “No.” He sets a stack of folders back onto his desk next to his computer. “I was texting my, ah...well, I suppose you’d call him a friend with benefits.”

Erik stands up and picks up his jacket from where it’s slung across the back of a nearby chair. Sliding it back on, he tugs it straight and then looks up at Charles again. Then he walks to the door, unlocks it, and steps out into the hallway without a word. Charles can’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment. It’s a foolish sentiment. What had he been expecting? A proposal?

He heads back to his desk and settles down in his chair (the chair Lehnsherr had been sitting in, his cock hanging out of his pants, _god_ ). Banishing the thought, he tries to sort through his papers. They’re all a jumbled mess now, and he’s too jumped up on the fact that he just had sex - _sex!_ \- with Erik Lehnsherr to concentrate properly. Still, he’s got to get through these reports for the morning, so he forces himself to read through the lines and put each page back in its correct order.

He’s almost finished reorganizing everything when his phone chimes. Frowning, he picks it up and finds a text from Erik. Suddenly wide awake all over again, he unlocks his phone and reads: _Next time you need a friend with benefits, call me. I might even let you ride me._

Holy shit. Is his boss _sexting_ him right now? He swallows hard and tries to pretend he’s not even the least bit aroused. He sends back: _aren’t you supposed to be working._

Barely ten seconds pass before he gets a reply. _So are you._

Charles laughs. _you texted me._

_I was just letting you know. For next time._

Next time. Charles feels almost giddy at the thought.

His phone chimes again. _Next time, we can try somewhere different._

Oh, he’s got about two dozen fantasies for that. _conference table?_

_Have some more imagination than that._

Charles grins. _how about i go commando again so next time we’re at the office and no one’s here, you can just pull my pants off and shove me against the conference table and push into me. you won’t even have to prep me because that’s what i’ll be doing beforehand in my office with the door closed. then you’ll fuck me so hard i’ll scream and then after i’ve come all over you i’ll push you on your back onto the table and ride you til you see stars._

There’s a very long silence. Then, finally: _Goddammit, Charles._

He smirks. _i can be very imaginative._

A minute later, Erik appears in his doorway again, his face a little flushed. “How are the reports coming?” 

Charles glances down at the files open in front of him. “I’ve read two. I have two left.  I thought you had a conference call with the Mitsubishi group?” 

“I’ll summarize them for you later,” Erik says, sounding impatient and breathless. “And I lied.”

“What - ”

“Want to get out of here?”

Charles gapes at him. When Erik doesn’t budge, he realizes that he’s serious. Erik is _serious_.

“Hell yes,” he says, grabbing his own coat and flipping the files shut. Slipping his phone, wallet, and keys into his pockets, he hurries over to the door and stops by Erik’s side, closer enough to touch. “Where to? Your place or mine?” 

Erik grins. “I was thinking more along the lines of a certain conference table downstairs.”

Charles’s cock jumps at the idea. The sly edge to Erik’s grin sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. What the hell have he and Erik been doing for the last four months when they could have been doing _this?_

He grabs Erik’s hand and says eagerly, “Lead on.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Glacier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacier/pseuds/Glacier) has a tranlated this work into Chinese which can be found [here](http://www.mtslash.com/thread-123484-1-1.html)!


End file.
